R. A. S.
Dear St. Nicholas: The flowers are all in bloom; it looks so pretty. Here is a little piece of poetry:
Lieutenant G——
Was lost in the sea,
He was found in the foam,
But he was carried home
To his wife,
Who was the joy of his life,
His lovely brunette,
His idolized pet.
She went to a ball,
And this is all.
I have a little sister named Henrietta, but we call her "Wackie," because when she cries she goes "Wackie, wackie, wackie!" I remain, your constant reader,
Rowena T. Ewing.
Camp Grant, A. T.
Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little army boy. The other day my papa went down to Mexico, and I went with him. The first day I rode fifty-seven miles on a mule; the next day, thirty-five miles; and the third day, forty miles. If you know any boy East, eleven years of age, who can do that, tell me his name. Lots of Indians out here.
Paul Compton.
Here is an account of how four enterprising girls from an inland district spent ten summer days by themselves at the sea-side.
Four "Island" Girls by the Sea.